


Dawned

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Ficlet, Gen, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:40:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26386531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: The AP700 wakes Leo up.
Relationships: Carl Manfred's New Caretaker Android/Leo Manfred
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	Dawned

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The water rocks Leo’s little boat gently back and forth, easing him out of the place where he once stood—his father’s studio, as it is now, because even though Leo’s a child in this dream, he so rarely got to see this place in his real childhood. The concrete underfoot has given way to wooden planks and an oar he doesn’t take. He was never taught how to row. He shouts for instructions, but his father’s back is turned, too busy with the canvas to notice Leo’s plight. The tide intensifies with each one of Carl Manfred’s brushstrokes, painting a breathtaking scene across the canvas, but the waves are shaking Leo faster and faster and it’s becoming hard to hold on—

His eyes groggily flutter open, and he groans, slowly becoming aware that he’s not in the studio at all. He squints against the glare to see a familiar coffee table, awash in the bright light of the morning, the curtains fully drawn. He’s sprawled out across the couch in his father’s living room, a thick blanket draped from his sock-covered feet up to his shoulder. He sniffs and shifts his head against the armrest, then notices the hand that’s on his arm. 

The AP700’s kneeling beside the couch, and he gives Leo a soft smile when their eyes meet. Leo’s breath catches, all at once awake. The AP700 must’ve woken him. And the AP700 must’ve thrown the blanket over him, because Leo’s fairly certain he fell asleep just curled in a ball and cold. 

Dazedly pushing up onto his elbow, he wipes the sleep from his eyes. It was a _good_ sleep too, which is saying something—his head still rattles sometimes from his injury and the withdrawals don’t help. The hospital did its best, but Leo went in a wreck and could hardly come out perfect. Realistically, the couch is too cramped to be as comfortable as the single mattress Leo has on the floor of his apartment, but he hasn’t paid the heating bill at home, so this was better that way. And maybe it was the company. He feels so _vulnerable_ without ice, and even though he’s a full grown man, there’s something strangely comforting about knowing his father’s just upstairs. Even if that father was never there for him before, things have been getting better.

The AP700’s done a lot to help with that. Leo knows the AP700 keeps better care of his father than Leo ever could, and he’s profoundly grateful for it. Sometimes he struggles with how to say that. He gives the AP700 a sheepish look and mumbles, “Sorry... I didn’t mean to crash here. Was gonna ask if you could call a taxi, but then you went back up to him, and I guess I just... conked out...”

“It’s alright,” the AP700 promises, and there’s a light behind his eyes that makes it sound so _genuine_. He’s nicer to Leo than Markus ever was. _Warmer_. But then he has to remind himself that Markus wasn’t _awake_ back then, and Leo treated him like crap. Leo still doesn’t fully understand how android sentience works. But he knows that when he first called his father from the hospital, the AP700 was a lifeless go-between, and then Markus stopped by one evening, and the AP700’s become magnificent. 

The AP700 looks at Leo like he’s _someone_ , like he _matters_ , and that’s more than any human’s ever given him. The AP700 adds, “I’m sorry for waking you, but I thought I’d make you breakfast.” 

Breakfast for _him_. Not his father. Just going off how early it feels, his father won’t be awake for awhile yet, and that gives them some time to just be together—the two of them—Carl’s son and caretaker. Maybe it should feel strange for the two of them to coexist without him around, but Leo looks at the AP700’s handsome face and truly wants to share that time.

But he knows he can’t. He lifts a hand to scratch the hair at the back of his neck, poking out of his lopsided beanie, and mutters, “I shouldn’t. I’ve already imposed enough...”

“You haven’t,” the AP700 tells him, voice perfectly level. Even with the whirl of new thoughts and _emotions_ , the AP700 always acts and talks with a surety Leo’s never had. There are definitely some things he envies androids for. Then he remembers how horrible he was too Markus, how horrible so many others must’ve been, and he knows he’s lucky to have been born human. The AP700 looks more than comfortable in his own skin. He remains on the floor beside the couch, almost kneeling, for a human that he has to know is toxic. He says with no hesitation, “I’d enjoy the company.” 

Leo snorts. It sucks to admit, but he does: “You can do a lot better. When things settle down with all the stuff Markus is doing, and there are more androids around, you can go and make a bunch of super smart, super hot friends, and you’ll wonder why you wasted time on this bum at all.”

“I like this bum,” the AP700 counters. “And I happen to think you’re plenty intelligent and quite cute, even if you’re human.”

Leo’s cheeks light up like fire. His whole body feels hot. It’s a complement he’s never had before, and it means twice as much coming from the AP700, because the AP700 is ingenious and gorgeous. Maybe at Leo’s blush, the AP700 grins a little wider, and he reaches up to tug at the corner of Leo’s beanie, straightening it out. He even tucks a few stray strands of dark hair beneath it, fingertips impossibly soft and skilled. The AP700 murmurs, “Besides, I like feeding you. Ever since Markus woke me, I’ve been able to appreciate the reactions of people tasting my cooking.”

But the AP700 was programmed to cook. Ordered to cook. He’s built to _serve_ in every conceivable way. Leo blurts before he can stop himself, “Don’t you resent being a slave?”

Even then, the AP700 doesn’t look bothered. He simply explains, “I consider myself a hired caretaker, paid in room and board. Carl has been good to me, as have you. I know I _could_ leave and join the movement, but they’re doing fine without me, and I think my place is here.” His hand falls to Leo’s knee as he talks, not squeezing or rubbing, just lying there, and that’s enough to make Leo melt. He’s too embarrassed to deal with it. 

He forcibly changes the subject instead. “Hey, have you picked a name yet?”

“I haven’t. ...Would you like to name me?”

Leo doesn’t know if that makes him feel sick or not. He’s honoured to be asked, but he couldn’t do that. “You should choose it.”

“Markus Two?”

A laugh wrenches out of Leo’s throat. He gives the AP700’s broad shoulder a little shove. It’s nice to know that androids can have a sense of humour. The AP700 smiles at Leo’s bubbling laughter and rises gracefully to his feet. 

His hand slithers off of Leo’s knee and hovers in between them, palm up, waiting. Leo can’t help but take it. 

As the AP700 gently tugs Leo off of the couch, he muses, “Come talk with me while I make breakfast. Maybe we can think of a name together.”

 _Happy_ like he hasn’t been in years, Leo nods and goes.


End file.
